


Afternoon Delight

by discountghost



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, CEO!Yunho, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, big dick yunho amirite, daycare worker!San, do i ever edit anything i write, single dad!Yunho, yunsan nation this is for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 14:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20640548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: A solution to a common problem.





	Afternoon Delight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timeofsorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeofsorrow/gifts).

> put me in caw jail but also pls i'm so sorry this is so bad

It’s awkward.

God, it’s so awkward and he made it _ worse _ by suggesting they sit at this damn kiddie table. This was supposed to be no different than any other parent-teacher meeting. It wasn’t even supposed to be _ him _ in this meeting. The older staff — the same who had spent weeks complaining about this particular parent and children — had all suddenly clammed up. Didn’t want to get into any trouble. Didn’t want to spoil a potential matchup for their kids. (He’s really not sure they would even be _ considered _ for a match, but he supposes they can have their dreams). But San — he was dispensable, apparently, because why else would they allow him to make a fool of himself in front of Jeong Yunho, the youngest and likely most formidable CEO to date.

The same man he had sitting in a chair much too small for him, with his knees pressed towards his chest and a semi-neutral expression on his face. It was supposed to lighten the mood and make this a lot less dire than it was, but it had proved a failure. Laughing at the dark-haired man across from him felt like a whisper above a societal death.

San swallowed, glancing down at the attendance record. He was no better off with this table but he’d adapted; gotten used to being dragged down when the kids wanted him to join them. His legs were spread wide, hands wrung over the table. His hips were used to be being opened up in this particular fashion because the table was so small but he suspected designer pants weren’t designed to do the same. Okay, so this probably looked _ really bad _, but he was already screwed. The way the other had first taken in the sight was probably that of disgust, but his face was a mask of a smile.

Clearing his throat, he looked up once more at Yunho, then down to the records again.

“Uh, we wanted to call you in because of the time the twins were leaving, Yunho-ssi.” Said twins only glanced up from the papers they were scribbling over, large eyes turning toward their teacher before dropping back to the page with renewed concentration. A smile, just barely, broke out on his face. “I’m not sure what it is, but your wife comes in exceptionally late. It’s been three times this week that she’s gotten here past our closing time — let alone the past month. It might be better if you find a nursery that is open a little later or has aftercare programs-”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“P-pardon me?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Girlfriend, then?”

“Nanny.”

This felt like he was interviewing him about his love life. “Oh.” That wasn’t any of his business. That wasn’t any of his business. _ That wasn’t any of his business _. “Regardless, it would be better if you worked out a better schedule for her to pick up the kids or found another program or something. I don’t think it’s good that you have them waiting so long to go home.” Brows furrowed, San picked at his fingernail a moment. 

_ This _ wasn’t his expertise. What he was good at was telling parents how well children were doing and informing them when trips were planned. He could give good news, but not anything close to bad news. Hell, he nearly broke down while calling a parent about one of the kids having a fever. Telling Yunho — excluding the wonderful tidbit that if he wanted to, he could probably ruin San’s life in .02 seconds — is _ hard _.

“W-what I’m saying is, if this keeps up, the twins might not be able to keep coming.” His voice dipped as he got further into the sentence, Yunho having to lean in to hear it. The man looked perturbed to have to do so, brow raised and his smile tightening. 

If San had never heard stories of what Yunho could do with a face like that, he’d be surprised. But Jeong Yunho’s reputation preceded him always; bright and cheery as he bought your company or filled your slot in the niche you once occupied in the economy. He wondered how the man did it; and how much he could do to broke daycare teacher that would likely be living off ramen if not for his roommate’s mother. 

“I’m sorry; could you speak up?” It’s slow and easy and the smile remained.

It’s probably why the words fly out of his mouth in the first place. “I said, if it becomes any more of a problem, I can bring the kids home when it’s time for closing.”

“Oh?” The other brow rose and Yunho sat back. Surprised, maybe. A good surprised? He considered it a moment longer, head cocked to the side. It probably would’ve been more intimidating if he didn’t have his hands on his knees, which were touching his chest. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“O-okay.” _ Please say no _.

“Was that all?”

San nodded, maybe faster than he should have as he stood. “Yes, that was all.”

“Well, then.” Yunho gave him a nod. “Gunho, Cho; say goodbye so we can go.”

Maybe his heartbeat wasn’t thundering in his ears and it was just something outside. Mechanically, he said his goodbyes to the twins, waving all the way until they got to the door. His smile dropped once they’d gotten past the windows and he felt his limbs turn to jelly as he dropped back down into the chair. 

  


“So you told him you could take the kids home?”

“Uh huh.”

“To his home.”

“Yes.”

“His penthouse apartment.”

“Indeed.”

“His kids.”

“Affirmative.”

“...That’s both stupid and not a bad idea if you’re trying to get a sugar daddy.”

There was a crack and a sharp pain with how fast he turned his head. _ “No, oh my god-” _

He could have sworn a pack of hyenas had been let loose with the way Wooyoung laughed. Head thrown back, he drew the attention of some of the kids playing for a moment to laugh along with him. They crow back at him then resume tossing a ball around, San’s lips pursed together to keep from making some comment while the children are looking. It’s gotten hot, and humid, out. The shade of the tree they’re under is only doing so much and he longs to go back into the air-conditioned haven of the daycare.

“That’s literally not what I was trying to do, Woo.”

Wiping fake tears from his eyes, Wooyoung grinned. “Sure — that’s totally not you trying to get into some rich guy’s pants. They were probably nice pants, too.” The eyebrow wiggle was excessive, but Wooyoung was never one _ not _ to be excessive.

The other let out a short yelp as San landed a particularly vicious slap on his bicep, curling away too late as he hit clammy skin. Once more it drew the attention of the children, who chorused a “Teacher San isn’t using nice hands!” By decree of the daycare rules, they would hug it out and San would apologize in front of their audience and Wooyoung would accept. The only reason he wanted to put his hands on Wooyoung right now was to strangle him for putting the thoughts — okay, _ maybe _ they were already there — of what he would want Jeong Yunho doing to him.

Once their show was over, the kids ran off to resume playing. San stuck his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to throttle Wooyoung further. Because he was certainly thinking about how _ nice _ those pants were. Sucking in a breath, he squinted over at the children. He could see Gunho and Cho chasing after another set of children, peals of laughter carrying over to the two children.

“Too bad he’s a hetero.”

Wooyoung turned to him, amusement gone for the moment. “Too bad.” It was the same dubious expression he wore when he watched San talk himself down from a blind date. (Which, was totally right to do, because it turned out Jongho worked with them and was very much interested in a pretty boutique owner just around the corner).

That promptly ended that conversation.

  


San jumped, nearly out of his skin when he felt his phone go off. He’d only just gotten one of the younger kids down to sleep when it buzzed, hot in his pocket. He froze in place to see if Mingi would wake from his sleep, but he remained blissfully dead to the world. He wished he could sleep like that.

Long strides carried him to the far corner of the room, hand snaking into his pocket as he went. The number was unknown, causing his brows to furrow. He never got random phone calls. Maybe it was a phishing scheme?

“Hello?” Soft, careful; he glanced over at the children to be sure he wasn’t disturbing them.

“Choi San-ssi?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“This is Jeong. From the parent meeting a few days ago.”

_ Let this be the rejection _. “Ah, yes, I remember.”

“...I was calling to say that I would gladly accept your offer.”

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “O-oh.”

“I reasoned it would be good, since the children already know you. They’ll feel comfortable with you and I’m sure if you’re employed at a daycare you’ve been vetted and have background clearances.” A pause, then Yunho continued, voice bright. “They seem enamoured with you, really. Was the deciding factor for this decision.”

“I see.” Never once had he cursed his skill with children before now.

“We can work out any additional expenses or payments-”

_ “No!” _ San froze again, looking out over the children. None had woken up, thankfully. “No need to worry about paying me. The daycare pays well.”

“Then is there anything I can do for you?”

“Nothing; I didn’t really offer with any expectations of compensation.”

That seemed to get to the man because he was silent for a moment. “Okay. In the meantime, I’ll get to the necessary paperwork on the twins’ forms so that you’re listed in the contacts. I’ll let you know ahead of time when you can start taking them home.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“No — thank _ you _. Have a great rest of your day, San-ssi.” The line clicked, called ended, but San still held the phone to his ear.

  


There’s a lot of regret resting in the pit of his stomach when he looks up at the building. He has to crane his neck to see it, broad and tall and _ expensive _. It has fancy lettering on the front of it and perfectly manicured shrubs out front for decoration. San’s cheeks heated thinking about the arguably clean bus they’d taken to get there. He should have hailed a cab or something. It would have been less mortifying to roll up in that than in a city bus packed with sweaty 9-5ers and elderly women who bickered about the weather.

He was hit with a wave of cold air as he entered the building, a soft whine of relief that lasted for about three seconds leaving him. He was faced with his second obstacle of the day. The first had been getting over that fact that _ today _ would be the day he dropped the Jeong twins combined with the logistics of it. He should have been prepared for this, since any residential building of this caliber would have a front desk person. Right?

The woman behind the counter didn’t seem very frightening. Unremarkable, even, like a young woman you saw behind the counter of a convenience store and forgot. Her smile was easy as she glanced up to see the twins as they approached, though it faltered slightly at the sight of San. Confusion knitted her brows together as she visibly tried to connect the dots. A sigh, then — “New nanny?”

“Uh, n-no. I’m just doing a favor for their father.” Because that what this was, a favor.

The woman nodded, the light hitting her name plate. _ Kim Eun Ae _. She rooted through one of her drawers for a moment before pulling out what looked like some sort of notepad. She nodded again, at something written down in it before pushing a visitor log towards him. “I just need you to sign in and show me some identification before I give you the key Jeong-ssi left with me.”

This was going smoother than he had initially thought. Complying was easy enough and he was soon on an elevator up to the top of the building. He’d have been lying if he didn’t feel his stomach churn with nerves. Butterflies or maybe dozens of hummingbirds beating around in there as the doors opened up to the top floor. The one with all the nice suites and apartments and things he couldn’t afford if he worked for ten years (or so he told himself).

The twins rushed the door, eager to get inside as San unlocks it. Inside was both what he expected and not. It wasn’t...a disaster zone, but it certainly wasn’t clean, either. There were jackets hanging off of chairs and toys shoved back into corners. Odd, considering how well the twins cleaned up when asked at the facility. San frowned as the children made a beeline to drop their bags off, remove their shoes and run for the television.

Grimacing, he thought on what next he should be doing. It wasn’t particularly late and he supposed that Yunho would be a few hours before getting in. Leaving the children here alone didn’t seem like a stellar way to start this whole arrangement. Shrugging off his jacket, he left it on a supposed hook by the door, eyeing it dubiously.

Further inside, the twins have transfixed themselves with toys and the television playing in the background, oblivious to San hovering by the couch. So much for being enamoured by him. However, all it took was a clap — the same sequence he uses when he wants their attention at the facility — and they look to him in a snap, abandoning the toys.

“Why don’t we do something extra nice before your dad gets home, huh?” Maybe getting them to clean up here will be as easy as it is at work. “Let’s clean up before he gets back so everything is spotless.”

Their enthusiasm was cute, and extended to showcasing the toys they had. They had a wide variety of stories to share concerning them, though there was a reoccuring iteration of how their father had gotten it for them to play with when he wasn’t there. It wasn’t the worst of things to do, but the disparity in seeing how many toys shared the story was obvious. San had frowned before correcting his expression to convey the astonishment they wanted. It only seems to spur them forward in reliving stories they’d concocted while playing with said toys (and there were many). 

This process went on for some time — enough that it takes close to an hour just to get the toys dealt with. The clothing is moved aside, or taken to what the twins had described to San as being the laundry room. But, at least the living room is clean and they have succeeded at the task they set out to do. Watching a bit more TV seems like a good enough reward for them, but San is still left with not being sure what to do. 

He wishes he could say that he had found something to busy himself with. He had thought about cleaning up the rest of the apartment but that felt like an intruding act. e figured it wouldn't do too much harm to sit with the kids for a little longer. He took up residence on the couch as they clamber over him to find a spot at his side and on his lap to watch whatever cartoon they had left on. 

Perhaps an episode or two later, he feels Cho tug on his sleeve and he looks down. He blinks a layer of sleep away as the child proclaims that she is hungry. The twins lead him off to the kitchen (drag him, really) and demand food in a way that reminds him very much of baby birds chirping for food. 

"Is that how we ask?" It gets them to pause, reconsider.

Gunho takes charge in taking another try. "Could you make us something to eat, please?" 

San smiles, giving them a pat on the head. "Let's see what we can make, then."

The refrigerator provides him with very little to work with. It's worrying how little there is.

"What do you usually eat?"

"Whatever Daddy tells the nanny to bring us."

_ Worrying _.

“Well — why don’t we try making something ourselves tonight.” The suggestion is met with a two person chorus of agreement.

  


It’s when Gunho’s head lolls forward that San is certain he can put them to bed. The twins had already bathed, boasting of being able to do it themselves. Needless to say, the bathroom was a disaster afterwards, but they were clean and clothed. Ready for bed — which they postponed by pleading to watch TV for a little while longer. Carrying the dozing children to bed is the easy part, but getting them to let him go is a touch harder. They cling to him as if he is their last lifeline and the blonde has to pry their fingers from his clothes to get free.

The dishes are washed and cleared, the bathroom put back into a much better state than how the twins has left it when San collapses on the couch. He’s left the TV on, something playing now that he can barely pay attention to. His eyes slide shut and it’s just quiet enough that he can feel himself drifting off. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep when he feels a hand on his shoulder, jostling him awake.

Vision sleep blurry, he blinks up at the too tall figure, trying to figure out who it is. His brain registers belatedly that this isn’t his bed; he’s sprawled out over a designer couch in someone else’s home. This gets him sitting up, maybe too fast because there’s a wave of dizziness that overtakes him. That, and his heart might just beat out of his chest, which _ doesn’t _ feel pleasant in the slightest. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.” Yunho cuts him off before he can finish his apology. He also seems to have the grace to not remark on the bird’s nest that was once San’s hair from his impressively wild sleep.

They linger in a weird space of silence and awkwardness not unlike their first meeting. San rights himself, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “The kids are asleep.” He winces after speaking. Wonders if Yunho has noticed how much it sounds like a cheesy, suggestive line out of some drama.

“Good.” It sounds an awful lot like he’s been mentally dismissed.

When he looks up to confirm if this thought is true, Yunho is removing his tie and jacket and 

headed for the kitchen. Right; he would be hungry after a long day of work. San doesn’t even know what time it is, but it feels _ late _.“There’s your portion on the table.” He gestures to the table and the bowls wrapped in cling wrap. “I cooked.”

He tries not to take offense at the look of surprise on the other’s face, brows drawn up towards his hairline. “You cooked?”

“I thought I might as well.” He considers how that sounds, adds on, “Since they were hungry and all.”

The taller man hums, nods as he starts unwrapping his food. But he stops midway to look at San, not so subtly cowering in the hallway. It’s not a staredown (not when San can’t even meet his gaze), but another awkward exchange of looks as Yunho seems to consider something.

“Would you like a ride home? Or I could call a taxi?”

San doesn’t deflate. He doesn’t. Because this isn’t some romance novel where he’s invited to stay the night. He swallows, shakes his head. “I can just take the bus.”

“They run this late?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t know; he’s never had to take a bus this late, but if they don’t — a taxi isn’t going to cut into his budget too terribly. An attempt is made at a smile, but it feels wrong. He chalks it up to still being somewhat asleep.

Yunho nods again, and San takes it as his cue to start getting himself together. He’s shoving his feet into his shoes when he hears the executive’s voice calling out to him.

“You cleaned?”

He blinks. He thought the other would notice a bit faster than that. “Yes.” It’s quiet again, so he opens up the door without a second thought. “Good night.” And with that, he makes his escape.

It’s not hard to fall into a routine. It comes easily; take kids home, dinner, bedtime, rinse and repeat. It’s almost like an extension of their schedule at the nursery. San can’t stop the odd coiling in his stomach, though, when he’s awoken to Yunho greeting him. He makes the same offer of getting the other a ride home and San still refuses. Whatever is possessing him to say no is doing a number on his bank account with how often he has to call a taxi. But it’s a dynamic they’re comfortable with, and San suspects Yunho is asking now simply out of habit.

He tells himself the other likes coming back from work to a clean home and food on the table. It’s something he would imagine he’d like in that situation. It makes their arrangement a lot more transactional — he’s just doing a job (unpaid, but a job no less). There might be the odd moment when Yunho looks like he wants to say something else, but for the most part their routine is comfortable and uncomplicated.

Until he _ does _ say what he wants to say.

“Why don’t you stay the night?”

Yunho has moved into the entryway, just behind San. He stares down at his socked foot, the other hastily shoved into his sneakers as he considers the offer. He’s tired. Tired enough that he might fall asleep in whatever mode of transportation he decides on. His paycheck doesn’t hit until midnight and while that’s a few minutes away, he doesn’t want to think about the state of his bank account in the moment. But — 

“I don’t have any clothes.”

Yunho shrugs. _ Shrugs _. It doesn’t seem to fit him. “I think I have some things that could fit.”

San doesn’t hate the idea of wearing the other’s clothes, but still. “I don’t think your couch is meant for overnight visitors.” A nervous chuckle punctuates the joke he hopes the other can hear in his words.

“We’ve got a spare room that isn’t used much. I had it cleared out last week.” _ Oh _. Yunho seems to realize what San does at the same time, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and scratching at his neck. “I was going to ask you about it last week, but.” He clears his throat, straightens up. “I thought now would be a better time to ask, since now I am sure that it would be best if you just stayed the night.”

“How would I get to work in the morning? I also don’t have clothes for tomorrow.”

“I can take you when I take the kids. We keep early mornings, as you know.”

He knows too well and that’s why it works. Teeth worry at lips as he mulls over how he can get out of this. San is, for all intents and purposes, already too deep in this to really get out. He was too deep when he made the offer to take the twins home.

“And we can handle your clothes in the morning.”

They did, actually, handle his clothes in the morning (a quick wash and dry before stopping off at his place — which he protested the entire way — and then he and the twins were dropped off). It was everything and nothing all in one, and the butterflies welled up in San’s chest thinking about it. He succeeded in evading sleepovers for the most part, but Yunho would press every so often and the other would be left with no real reason to deny him of it.

The relevancy of needing to stay over changed, though, as San noticed something. It wasn’t a major change and maybe the other didn’t realize it himself, but the hour the executive came home became earlier and earlier until there was no need for taxis and sleeping over (didn’t stop Yunho from offering, though). He’s berated for how the situation has turned out without fail should he breach even a little information to Wooyoung.

He has to defend himself at every turn when he’s outed for voicing any part of how his stomach churns when executive comes home. Wooyoung has latched onto the idea of the two of them; he’s just doing what he does best as San’s fairly dubbed best friend. (“It’s what you want, it’s what I want, but most importantly — it’s what your dick wants.”) 

He can hear his cackle as Yunho’s voice rings out, “_ Jagi-ya _, I’m home.” It’s not the first time it’s been done. San wonders what possessed him that first time to do it. Maybe the other had grown comfortable with him enough to do it. Or maybe he was trying to ease some perceived attention. Regardless, he answers all too easily now with a slightly higher pitched, “Welcome home.” He tries not to think of the way it makes his cheeks heat, or the emboldened pats on his back he gets. He has no business thinking about it.

It feels overly domestic, and San falls again into the comfort of a routine only for it to be shaken.

San’s staring at the clock, brows furrowed and soapy dish in hand. Yunho normally isn’t this late, not anymore. Has something held him up? Maybe a surprise meeting. He shouldn’t be so worried, but he is. It’s probably just a worry associated with a break in routine. Or maybe they were reverting. He shakes his head, internally rolling his eyes at himself because why would that be something he needs to worry about? He has to remind himself, not for the first time, that regardless of how friendly they’ve gotten, this is still just a business arrangement. A transaction, minus money.

A sigh drawls from him as he puts the last dripping dish in the rack to dry. The twins are already in bed, disappointed in not seeing their father beforehand but there’s nothing he can do about that. If this is anything like how it had first been, he supposes there’s no harm in making tonight a night he slept over.

It’s much too easy to navigate the now quiet apartment. He could probably walk through it with his eyes closed with how often he’s been through it. Grabbing the spare towel and toiletries that have been set aside from him in the off chance that he decides to sleep over, he heads for the bathroom with a brooding cloud of worry clogging his mind. It’s only when the steam from the hot water floods the bathroom that his mind clears. 

The water loosens the knots of his muscles, soothes the ache in his head. He has nothing to worry about, he assures himself. It was bound to happen; sometimes you can’t escape obligations. They’d be right back to their regularly scheduled programming. Another sigh and he lets his eyes slide shut. Basks in the hot water as it spills over him, fingers trailing after droplets. He’s reminded of Wooyoung’s words, and in this watery sanctum of thought, he’s almost obligated to address it.

Sure, he _ is _ very much attracted to Yunho, but he’s also sure a good percentage of the population that has seen his face also are. He doesn’t want to exaggerate whatever it is he’s feeling as his insides do flips when the other laughs at something he’s said, or maybe steps too close to speak to him. They don’t even talk that much; it’s a comfortable existing in the same space, and _ god _, he wants more than that.

San would like very much for Yunho’s hands to reach beyond his shoulder blades. To do something other than give him a friendly pat on the back in greeting. Perhaps if he wasn’t now horny and in a shower, he might be imagining them latched onto his smaller hands, but his first thought is how he would very much like for them to hold him down. Have them cover every inch of him until there is nothing that hasn’t been touched.

He swallows, thoughts and bathroom congested with steam. He feels bashful even with it just being himself in the shower, forehead resting on the much cooler tile. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s mulled over this particular subject. Or thought of it from different angles, in different places. 

There are no delays in replacing his own hands with Yunho’s in his mind. Wet hair clings to the tile, as shuddered moan leaving his lips as his fingers wrap around his cock. His free hand slips between his cheeks to tease his clenching rim. His now inebriated mind has no problems imagining Yunho’s fingers pushing in, water slicked slender digits opening him up in time with pumping his cock.

A whine catches in his throat as he curls up slightly. The spray of water is too hot; the cooling droplets that bounce off him could so easily feel like breath against his skin. In the very far part of his mind — the one capable of coherent thought in the moment — worries about being caught helplessly bucking his hips to fuck into or onto his own fingers. But it’s drowned out by the rest of his brain chasing pleasure and a fantasy that would likely remain just that.

Huffs and whines — frustration and want of something bigger, longer than his fingers — are replaced with moans of the other’s name. They’re chanted like a mantra that might somehow manifest his daydreaming into some form of reality.

“San?”

The pleasure-drunk part of his mind latches onto the voice he knows all too well now. It’s distant and not as close as he would want it, but it’s still the voice he wants to hear. He responds with a drawn out moan. His mind doesn’t quite register the thud of footsteps — hurried in a way that can only denote someone moving and _ fast _ — or the click of the door opening up. It’s only when the shower slides open that the cloud of pleasure starts fading away. The rush of cool air doesn’t help him, a gasp cutting off a groan just as he’s reaching that sweet spot he so seldom reaches. He’s right there as he looks up, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he stifled a moan that would most definitely be heard by the twins as he comes. 

His orgasm hits him the same time the steam clears and he’s looking up at a very real Yunho with an expression he can’t decipher.

_ Fuck _.

“So, what you’re saying is — you shot a load in his shower and he watched you do it.”

“That’s not at all what I just said.”

San wishes the earth would just swallow him up right there. He’s wanted it since the whole incident-that-would-not-be-fully-addressed and he wants it a whole lot more when he sees Wooyoung smile. It’s the smile he doesn’t want to see because it means nothing good is going to come out of it.

“That kinda is what you just said.” Jongho bites into another chip, munching on the pack he raided from San’s pantry.

He was supposed to be the voice of reason. “You’re not helping at all.” The younger shrugs.

“We’re only dumbing down the situation.” Wooyoung isn’t anymore helpful.

“There’s nothing to ‘dumb down’. I made an absolute fool of myself and I’m never going to live this down.” Brows furrowed, he could only think the worst. A carefully balanced routine (not really) ruined by an impulsive jerk-off in the shower because he thought he had more time. He buried his head back in the covers, clutching his plushie Shiba Inu close. “He’s probably disgusted with me. He probably never wants to see me again or be near me.”

“It can’t be that bad.” _ Crunch _. “The worst thing this does is that it’s awkward because he got a look at your junk while you busted a nut.”

“I said his name.”

There’s silence and he hazards a look up. The pair above him are exchanging a look that reflects a lot of how he’s feeling. No point in seeing it. “Exactly.”

“That’s...that’s kinda incriminating.”

“_ Kinda _?”

“San, how bad do you have it for him?” Jongho pokes at the mound of San that’s under the covers. 

He considers an answer to that. He could admit that he’d very much like to schedule a dick appointment with Yunho. He doesn’t think he has it in him to admit that he’d also like to hold his hand and take him out to the movies. To keep cooking for him and watching the twins. To make sure he comes home and can relax and maybe they could cuddle.

A broken sob breaks the silence he’s created and that seems to be answer enough. It feels like one of those devastating high school crushes that don’t mean anything because he hasn’t interacted with the person more than three sentences. But it isn’t that; it’s not another Eden situation.

“This isn’t going to end the same way it did with Eden.” Leave it to Wooyoung to touch a nerve. “Then was different because you weren’t a grown _ adult _. Now...you are.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going.” It’s muffled under the layer of covers, but it’s heard. And ignored.

Jongho is truly not living up to his potential as a support. At least not in the way San thinks he needs it as the other _ agrees _ with Wooyoung. “He’s right; you’ve got better ways to approach it.”

San didn’t like the way this was going. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“No, but listen.” The couch jostles beneath him as he feels one of them move closer. Wooyoung, probably. “You remember _ Bboom Bboom _? Like you went on about how it was all a clever ploy of relaying the same message of putting your best self forward, of focusing on marketing your...I’m blanking on the word now.”

It would be slightly more compelling if Wooyoung wasn’t trying to relate a colorful pop song sung by too-pretty girls in vibrant hues to his current state of distress. It would be very helpful if they could just end his sorry existence in the very moment but Jongho jumps in with the word that Woo is looking for.

“_ Ass _ets.”

“Yes — that — your assets. And your ass, in this case.”

“I still don’t like where you’re going with this.” Lips pull down into a frown and he burrows back into the covers. “It’s not going to work.”

“And why’s that?”

If possible, the frown deepens. He doesn’t have a response because he shouldn’t _ need _ to have a response. The first thing that comes to mind is gross and cliche: they exist in two very different worlds. Yunho is a _ very _ wealthy man and San is not. The next is no better; he’s one hundred percent sure that the other is very, painfully straight. There’s been no indication of him having any interest in the same sex — or San, for that matter. 

The bite of his own nails in his palms draws him out of the spiraling wreck of his thoughts. It’s too hot under the covers, and he heaves a sigh as he moves them enough that he can get fresh air. But just that little bit is enough for Jongho to take advantage of, throwing the covers away and manhandling him off the couch.

“See — you can’t even answer. So clearly, you don’t know that this won’t work. And you don’t even know what _ this _ is.”

He levels Woo with a glare. “_ This _ is going to be the same thing that you tried doing our senior year. Practically get me to throw myself at him, and then him saying no.”

“Okay, but did you die?” The other squawks as a pillow connects with his face.

Jongho ducks his own pillow before tacking on how much he would like to know this story. As well as, “Worst case, he _ does _ say no and then we get to go out for ice cream sundaes.” He isn’t fast enough to miss the next one.

It’s awkward _ again _ and it’s his fault _ again _, but he can’t do anything about it. Coming up the elevator feels like an execution march, his final procession before he waves farewell to the world. Yunho has taken to texting ahead. Short messages warning of his return. They’d met up in the hallway and the twins — precious, oblivious children — had whined about wanting San to come up for something to eat. They’d gone on and on about how they wanted him to be there when they ordered out for the first time in a while (because while they loved his cooking, he “deserves a break”). 

He kicks off his shoes and arranges them with one foot to delay going all the way in as long as possible. He wants nothing more than to sink away into nothingness when Yunho looks at him. The other doesn’t speak for a moment, face a cool mask. The same he’d worn when they first met, and his heart and stomach feel like they’re trying to switch places. It doesn’t make sense, but none of this does anymore.

“Any preferences?” 

He blinks. “What?”

“To what we order. Any preferences?”

“N-no; anything’s good.”

Everything is just business as Yunho pulls out his sleek phone in one hand, loosening his tie with the other. And that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but life is unfair so it certainly is. His throat is suddenly dry and he’s _ parched _ like he hasn’t had a drink in ages. Gaze dropping, he shuffles off to the table, and wishes yet again the earth would just swallow him up.

It feels like a personal attack orchestrated by fate. The minutes tick by slowly, painfully. They decide on sushi — something San can’t make — and his only reprieve is watching Cho forgo chopsticks in favor of using her hands after a bought of frustration. Her attempts had not been clumsy, but her grip slackened just enough when she took a bite that the rolls would drop. He grins at her, before joining in her revolution against chopsticks to see her own grin.

Yunho’s expression softens for the first time since they’d walked through the door and San is very much so feeling it. His smile falters, averting his gaze back to the twins and cursing genetics for giving the man a face like that. He directs most of his attention to his food or the twins, fearful of interaction with the father of two. But he can feel the other watching him, as if he has something that he wants to say and the last time he did, things changed. He doesn’t want to know how they’ll change when the other speaks again.

He sees his escape at the end of dinner, excusing himself. “I have a thing to do.” He winces at his own vagueness, because of _ things _ Yunho has seen him do and he hopes they aren’t linked to the nonexistent thing he’s using as an excuse. But he’s let off the hook as the twins bid him ado — they’re really into period dramas and he’s not sure why, but the obsession started when they’d seen San dressed up in an old photo saved as blackmail from high school — and Yunho has no choice but to let him go. He misses the way the other’s shoulders sag as he turns away, putting his shoes on faster than he’s ever done so in his life.

While he thinks he doesn’t have hope, Wooyoung and Jongho seem to think otherwise. It gets to the point that they convince him — it’s more so the power of alcohol and the ensuing hangover that numbs his sense of reason — to try. Inebriated, but still trying. San resigns himself to thinking that this is once more, a personal attack with the duo at the helm. He must have done something in his past life for this to be happening.

“If you do l-word him, you should shoot your shot.” Wooyoung pours him a drink while Jongho works his fingers over his shoulders.

A brow raises. L-word? “I don’t...l-word him.”

“You’ve got a heart boner for him and you know it.”

“Is this supposed to be some kind of pep talk because I don’t think it’s working.”

He’s stopped asking questions about how they’d rented this van — “I know this guy and he owes me a favor so he got this for me” — or about Jongho’s questionable choice in attire. The two of them have made themselves out to be a pair that can both be trusted with his life and not all at once. If this is what they can come up with while trying to help him, he wonders what they would be like if they were trying to hurt him.

“You’re just gonna go up there and everything’s going to be fine.”

“The work day is ending; everyone will _ see me _.”

“No, they won’t. They’re too busy trying to get home.”

San clutches the armrest, turning his gaze out into the underground parking lot. There are people milling around, having a quick smoke or speaking to someone else. Some make a beeline for their cars as if they’re running from the gates of hell. His grip tightens. “Give me another shot.” He’s not drunk enough yet.

The elevator in the parking lot chimes, signaling another wave of people coming out at the of their shift. “I have to go past a receptionist. I’ve never been to his office; I’d have to ask for directions. This is a _ bad _ idea.” A glass bottle is shoved into his hand and when he doesn’t move, it’s guided to his lips to shut him up.

“Look, Woo’s gonna go in there with you to ask.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“I am.”

Very reassuring. Their window of time is shrinking by the second, and he’s starting to feel that burn of the last two drinks he’s downed. They pool in his stomach, filtering out into his system as he loosens up under Jongho’s ministrations. “Please don’t let me go alone.” 

The pair share a look. “I think he’s ready.”

Getting a tipsy San out of the van is no problem; Wooyoung has done it alone in smaller vehicles. It’s a tipsy San _ in heels _ that makes it harder and his coat is no help. There’s a very clear love of cliches as they draw the band on the trenchcoat around him tighter so it doesn’t slip off. They ignore the pointed look as they move through the waves of people leaving to enter, like they’d never heard of a clock before or keeping good hours. (They’ve got maybe one more hour before the super nice cook has to close and getting through traffic is going to be a mess if they don’t leave in like ten minutes.)

San shudders as they step into the air conditioned lobby. Their entrance earns them a variety of looks, a particular stare from the receptionist. He hangs back as Wooyoung approaches him, smile put on. He can just barely hear what’s being said, but knows for a fact that he’s going to forget it later on. He doesn’t miss the glance the receptionist sends his way, bottle in hand and the other clutching at the pocket of his coat.

This — this is a very bad idea. He feels his stomach flip as Wooyoung turns back to him, grin nearly splitting his face. It shouldn’t have worked; he’d staked practically his life on the idea that it wouldn’t and he could just go home and be drunk. But it _ worked _ and now he’s in another elevator.

It’s not dissimilar to going up on the elevator to dinner with Yunho. It feels like the end is drawing near and they’re not even really starting on this half-baked plan. It’s only — he searches for a clock — eight and already the sky has darkened. City lights come in through the window, but they do little in providing actual light. The only beacons they can find are two rooms; one an office with clear windows look out over the floor of cubicles and the other closed off and leaking light from a singular window on the wall.

They duck past it, making their way to the office as San downs the bottle with a lot more vigor than he had before. _ This is a bad idea _. He wants to say as much, again, but he’s shoved into the office unceremoniously. 

“Coat off.”

He draws it around him tighter, curling into himself. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Wooyoung’s voice is soft, too soft and San looks up. “You look amazing and if he doesn’t take you right there on that desk, I’m gonna come up here and beat his dick in.”

He doesn’t want to, but he snorts. His defenses are down enough that Wooyoung has the chance to lunge at him and get the coat down off his shoulders. A short, scandalized exclamation of surprise might have left him if not for the other slapping his hand over his mouth. Silenced and at a disadvantage, San complies as Wooyoung helps him out of his coat. Or at least, he intends to before thinking better of it. He lets the outer layer hang off San’s shoulders, the coat left open and baring the red of the ‘scraps of fabric’ meant to clothe him. Wooyoung doesn’t explain why he’s done it, but the other moves on from worrying about it as they hear a door slam shut in the silence of the darkened floor.

If this was any other situation, San might have laughed at the picture they made for. Two men flailing as they tried to find a hiding spot, one a lot less clad than the other. They manage to squeeze into the small space of a closet. It’s quiet, for the most part, until voices filter past. San can only assume that they’re the last of the employees leaving and that window of time is closing fast.

When it becomes apparent that the door to the office hasn’t been opened and they have no immediate danger of it happening, the two come out of the closet. Wooyoung is making a hasty retreat when San grabs his arm. Bug-eyed and liquid courage waning, he stares at the other for a moment. 

“You’re going to be fine.” It’s the last thing he wants to hear because he knows he will _ not _ be fine, especially if things don’t go the way everyone has set this up to be. Wooyoung pries his fingers off, gives them a gentle squeeze, and then leaves San to float in the space of the office without a life raft.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. If he should prop himself up or if he should ide lie he was doing before. What if it isn’t Yuno that comes into the room next? What if it’s a janitor come to do his nightly cleaning? His pulse races. _ This was a bad idea _.

San isn’t long in worrying about all the what ifs because they become second to the actual thing. In his moment of panic, he misses the door opening, only realizing it because of the soft, “San?” Yunho, in the doorway. A very confused Yunho that isn’t looking him in the eyes. He’s not sure if it’s shame — he hopes it isn’t — but it clicks when he realizes how cold he is.

The coat has slipped off, revealing more than just the strap of the red number Jongho had given him. He’s really starting to wonder what kind of resources those two had tapped into for this. His mouth feels like he’s stuffed cotton into it as the other takes in his appearance for a moment longer. It feels like an eternity has passed before Yunho meets his gaze.

It’s panic that gets him started. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m going to leave, you don’t have to worry about seeing me again.” His eyes sting and blinks back the blurriness threatening to overtake his vision.

“San.”

“Oh, god; I’m — I’m a little drunk, too. This was such a bad idea.”

“San.”

“Can we just say this was a joke?”

“_ San _.”

There’s something in his voice that gets him to stop. Lips pressed together, he looks up at Yunho. He’s a lot closer than he was before, and the mask he’s gotten used to is gone. Instead, there are blown pupils and licked lips. The dryness creeps to his throat as the other takes another step closer.

“Is this for me?”

“Y-yes.”

Yunho inhales sharply, takes another step. “I would have liked to take you to dinner first, but this is fine by me.”

“You _ what _ ?” There isn’t much difference in height between them now. Not with the strappy red heels San is wearing — that are _ killing _ his feet right about now. But he can’t be bothered with them in light of the overwhelming new information he’s had thrown in his face. “You would have taken me to dinner?”

“I mean — I still want to. And we can, go for dinner. If you want.”

Maybe he feels a flutter in his stomach. Maybe he feels a dozen. What he does feel is something he’d imagined a hundred times over. Yunho’s hands — warm, too warm — on him. One at his waist, thumbing at the top of the garterbelt; the other sliding the coat off the rest of the way. There’s another sharp intake of breath and a murmured, “_ Shit _.” Then Yunho’s staring at him long enough that he squirms, feels so much smaller under his gaze.

“You’re so beautiful.”

His face probably matches the bralette’s color. He doesn’t want to admit that his dick might have twitched at the bit of praise, eyes dropping to the floor. He’s forced to look up by Yunho tilting his chin, a question there. “Can I kiss you?”

He nods; doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Maybe he’s fantasized about this, and maybe those fall short. It’s not earth-shattering, ground-breaking — but it’s the kiss he’s been wanting since his thoughts about the other had gone from being wildly intimidated to wildly wanting Yunho to jump his bones. His eyes slide shut before the gap is closed, ready to receive him with an open mouth. It isn’t long before he’s breathless and it turns sloppy.

He’s not sure when, but Yunho has backed him up against the desk. The wood hits the back of his thighs, making him jerk forward. The hand at his waist tightens, holding him in place as a groan leaves Yunho. He can _ feel _ it, and the other gets a whine in response. Needy and eager. The hand at his chin moves to slide down his neck, trace at his racing pulse as Yunho pulls away to breathe.

San maneuvers himself onto the desk, knee brushing against Yunho’s crotch — and really, he could never get over Yunho in his designer suits. He swallows, doesn’t miss how the other follows the movement of his throat with his eyes. In turn, San zeros in on the way Yunho has no problems leaning forward to reach behind the blonde and clear the desk behind him. He feels his breath stutter in his chest, hands gripping at the material of Yunho’s suit. He swallows and the taller of the two turns his attention back to him.

Lips slot together, teeth clicking with haste as Yunho licks into San’s mouth. It’s a pitiful moan that leaves him, chased by breathy sighs and gasps for air. Yunho’s lips curve up against his, drifting from mouth to jaw to neck in a trail of barely there kisses now. He whines, one hand trying to force the other back to his mouth, wanting to relish in more kisses but he soon loses interest as Yunho sucks a spot just above his collarbone. The other nips at the skin there, moving down to mouth at the fabric of the sheer bralette. Trace the floral patterns coyly hiding his nipples with his tongue. 

Yunho pulls away once again, leaving a shuddering San beneath him. “I’m going to assume your brought lube and condoms.”

It’s not a question, but San nods as he slides off the desk to retrieve them from the pockets of the coat. He’s momentarily distracted by the feel of the other’s crotch against his ass, the slow grind of foreshadowing. That Yunho is about to be in him like he’d imagined so many times before. The other wastes no time in turning him around and laying him back on the desk, fingers splayed out over the tops of San’s stockings.

The other sucks in a breath as he pushes San’s back, until knees hit chest. San peers up at him and isn’t sure if that was the greatest idea for the sake of his sanity. Yunho licks his lips, uses one hand to hold San’s legs back as he slips the panties up his legs enough to be out of the way. “Hold your legs.” San complies quickly, hands pressing his calves back. There’s something in his voice that’s all business; serious and focused and San can feel himself heat up knowing it’s directed at him.

Yunho looks almost pained at the sight, free hands now groping at his own erection tenting his pants. The click of the cap to the lube being opened is too loud, rings in his ears. He’s back in his head, fingers curling against the back of his thighs. What if _ he _ isn’t as good for Yunho as he thinks he’ll be? What if _ he _ does something horrendously embarrassing? He wouldn’t put it past himself to do that.

“I can hear you thinking, San; relax.” He can’t protest; whatever he has to say dies beneath a breathy moan as Yunho’s finger slides in. The digit reaches further into San than he could ever get, easily better than two of his own fingers. A shuddered breath is pulled from his as Yunho curls his finger, slides it back out. He’s leaned in close, enough that San can hardly see his face but feel his breath ghosting at the backs of his thighs.

Another finger is added, and San’s head thumps back against the desk with a groan. Yunho takes his time opening the blonde up. Slides his fingers in and out of him, just dodging that wonderful bundle of nerves. By the time a third finger is added, San can feel the panties rubbing against his weeping cock. Precome tears to match the ones starting to roll down his cheeks as Yunho scissors his fingers.

Yunho presses a kiss to his thigh to match the soothing circles his thumb is rubbing into his hip, while also holding him down to keep him from squirming. There’s yet another finger added and he can feel the other’s knuckles just at his rim. 

“Yunho, _ please _ , oh my god.” His words sound slurred to him. He might be feeling the cooling roll of tears down his cheeks and drool down his chin. He wants Yunho in him _ yesterday _.

There’s more kisses, fluttery and sweet. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me, sweetheart.”

His stomach flips at the pet name, a shudder going through him at the implication. Another whine pulls from him as Yunho slides his fingers out a final time. His legs shake and his grip is slipping from the sweat of his fingers. This isn’t a hard position to hold — he’s stretched like this so often — and he can hear Yunho making a soft noise of appreciation in time with the zipper of his fly dragging down. 

He opens his eyes in time to see Yunho meet his gaze as tears open the condom packet with his teeth. San’s whimper only seems to spur Yunho on as he slips the condom on and lubes himself up. The angle isn’t optimal for San to see what Yunho is working with — he’s guessed and maybe his guess is right — but it’s made clear as the tip pushes against his hole. He gets just the head in, a ground out “_ Fuck _” sounding above San as Yunho presses in. San is much louder, just barely breathing around the moan he lets loose. 

Yunho braces himself over San with his forearm beside his head, breath fanning over his face. His jaw slackens as the other slides further in. Once he’s balls deep, San could definitely come with just Yunho warming himself in him. His pleasure-addled mind considers asking for it. His breath quickens and he swears he might be seeing stars when Yunho pulls out to just the tip and snaps his hips forward. He repeats the movement a few times, forcing San further up the desk with each stroke. A cry is elicited each time, something that San thinks is his attempt at saying the other’s name lost in a moan. His thrusts slow as he leans further over San to take the last bit of breath he has in a kiss.

The angle is felt and appreciated immediately. Finally, _ finally _, he can feel the head of Yunho’s cock slide along his prostate, merciless in his slow glide. San is left to buck his hips back as Yunho’s hand finds his cock. His fingers have no problem swallowing up his cock, just like San had imagined. His thumb circles his slit, pressing in. He quiet, mostly, above him. Soft uttering of San’s name and groans muffled by lips on lips. 

San doesn’t last long, coming in hot waves over his stomach and Yunho’s hand with his name on his tongue. His voice fills the room, higher pitched and accompanied by the squelch of lube and the slapping of hip meeting ass. The other trails his fingers down until they’re at his hip again, pressing bruises into the flesh as he fucks into San a little harder. San clenches around him as he rides out his orgasm, earning him a groan from Yunho as his hips stutter.

Yunho pulls out, ridding himself of the condom as he strokes himself to completion. Comes all over the backs of San’s thighs, coating the red stockings in white. He feels sex-sticky, still very much bent in half as he basks in the glow of fluorescent lights and the receding highs of his orgasm. Their breaths replace the soundtrack of their very heated meeting, Yunho leaning over him again to press kisses into his cheeks, neck, anywhere he can put them.

“So, how about dinner?”

San grins, looks up through his lashes. “I could eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> ily wife! hope you liked it!
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/remeremerem) [twt](https://twitter.com/discountghosts)


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